Book Club: Victorian Rose by Catherine Palmer.
"Paul Baine is very bad, but I cannot hate him. I have found that the moment one knows the human condition, the reason for sin, the abhorrent road down which one's fellowman has stumbled, one can no longer despise him."
"I can despise 'im, all right! Wot greater monster can there be, Mrs. Laird, I ask ye?" asked Mr. Hedgley.
"He is like this Hellebore," she sighed.
"Refusin' to bloom?"
Clemma shook her head. "Mr. Hedgley, have you ever seen the root of a Christmas Rose? It is black- as black as the wicked, cold heart of a demon. And it is filled with the most violent poison."
"Poison!" Mr. Hedgley exclaimed.
"Indeed. To prepare for my December painting, I read about Hellebore in the great library at Longley Park. A drop of poison from it's root can completely stupefy a man. Delirium and insanity are common effects; as are vertigo, vomiting, and dreadful pain. Some have even used the plant in witchcraft-"
"Nay! Not that!"
"They believe it will make them invisible or able to fly. Yet there can be no doubt that this illusion is caused by the visions which the poison induces. In short, Mr. Hedgley, the Hellebore is a most villianous plant."
The old fellow regarded the small pot with it's evergreen leaves, and a gradual forwn turned down the corners of his mouth. He peered at the plant and he squinted his eyes, and finally, he picked it up and set off down the path.
"Mr. Hedgley!" Clemma cried, racing after him. "Where are you going with my Helleborne?"
"Outside to t'burnin' pit where it belongs. Nothin' like this 'as a place in me conservatory, I assure ye that!"
"Wait, I beg you." She caught his elbow and forced him to stop. "Please let me finish my story, for I was comparing the Christmas Rose to Dr. Baine."
"Aye, ye done such a good job of it that I'm sorely tempted to tie t'both of 'em to a stake and set 'em a fire!" Mr. Hedgley huffed.
"But there is much more to the Hellbore, Mr. Hedgley. Have you not ever heard the legend of the Christmas Rose?"
"No, I ain't." He set the plant down on a marble pedestal and glared at it. "Wot legend?"
"It is said that a young girl named Madelon followed the shepherds to the manger in Bethlehem on Christmas night. She was poor and had no gift to offer the Christ Child. Standing outside the stable, she was weeping, when suddenly the angel Gabriel appeared before her and asked the cause of her distress. As she told him of her sorrow, he touched his staff to the frozen ground, where her tears had fallen. And immediately there sprang up the exquisite white blossoms of the Christmas Rose."
Mr. Hedgley gave a grunt. "A pretty tale, but I still think t'plant deserves a burnin'."
"Indeed, it does. But can you not see, sir, how the touch of God can transform anything? How God's love can make even the most reprehensible things into beings that are pure and useful and utterly beautiful? God can change a vile plant… and He can change a wicked man."
The old gardener's rheumy eyes focus on Clemma. "God can do all wonders, dear lady, that I know. But at t'very 'eart of t'matter, that plant still 'as got poison in it's roots." So saying, he turned his heel and set off for the door.
Clemma gazed after him, unable to deny what he had just said was true.
Dr. Baine had shown no true signs of remorse for his evil deeds. No evidence of repentance. He never set foot in the church, and he had admitted that he never actually prayed.
Certainly God could change him, but He wouldn't without an invitation from the man, himself.
